


Bad Boys Go To Heaven

by sly_as_an_alpaca



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: M/M, kylo is a stupid asshole, probably not enough graphic description of pole dancing but is there ever?, strip club au, they're rival strippers that's all you need to know, twink hux (but he'll never admit it)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-19
Updated: 2017-11-18
Packaged: 2019-02-04 04:10:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12762864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sly_as_an_alpaca/pseuds/sly_as_an_alpaca
Summary: Hux has worked hard to get where he is now, and a trashy, uncoordinated, handsome arsehole like Kylo Ren will not upstage him.Shameless Strip Club AU.





	Bad Boys Go To Heaven

The slow, deep rhythm of the club’s music swept through Hux’s body as it always did. To him, it was steady. Relaxing. He liked to relax into a sort of rhythm during his shifts, one that required no small amount of focus, but that made the time pass quickly. 

Before he went up, he would do his stretches, more or less the same every night, occasionally more rigorous when he felt stiffer than usual. Ten neck and shoulder rolls in each direction, ten repetitions of leg stretches, and some crunches to get the blood flowing. Once he was on stage, he would relax into the music, let the thump of the bass become one with the flow of his blood, use the cool pole as the center for his balance. Let his body move through the familiar motions of his routine, let the crowd stuff his thong full of money, and head backstage when it was break time or his shift was finished. 

Alas, his shift was only just beginning, he thought, smiling absently at a particularly interested man in the front row. Luckily, stripping wasn’t terribly intellectually challenging, which gave Hux a lot of time to think. Perhaps too much time, if he was being honest with himself.

Armitage Hux prided himself on being a classy sort of stripper. It hadn’t come easily; he’d pulled himself up from the bottom of the food chain to be where he was today. Ten years ago, nineteen-year-old Armitage had been grabbing crumpled ones from the sticky floor of a cheap bar. Today, he was dancing for Britain’s high society at the First Order, an exclusive club deep in the heart of London, earning more than enough per night to keep his lifestyle cozy. Instead of scooping crumpled ones off of the floor, he was plucking crisp hundred-pound notes from the waistband of his fishnets. 

Perhaps, Hux thought, spinning around the pole absently, this was why he was so infuriated by dancers like Kylo Ren. Dancers with no rhythm, no dignity. Dancers who sped right to the top just by being the club owner’s simpering lapdog.

Hux glanced disdainfully over to the other stage, where Ren was unabashedly swinging his crotch in a woman’s face. Ren was the newest addition to the rotating door of First Order dancers, though he was certainly not the usual type. Unlike Hux, who was thinner and more feminine, Ren was broad-chested and strong. Instead of thongs, fishnets, and heels, Ren favored leather pants, suspenders, and not much else. 

Ren turned back to his pole. For a split second, their eyes met. Hux felt his blood boil. It wasn’t entirely unpleasant. Then Ren winked. 

He fucking _winked._

God, Hux hated him.

Ren pivoted and continued his dance, breaking their eye contact, and the moment was over. Unlike Hux’s routines, Ren’s dancing was entirely undignified, he thought, watching as Ren twerked against his pole with all the grace of a newborn rhinoceros.

Hux may not be one to talk, though, he ruminated two hours later, with the man from the front row’s cock down his throat. Well, “down his throat” was a bit generous. It barely reached the back of his palette. These sorts of extra services weren’t exactly the most savory, but money was money, and Hux needed the spare change to keep his cat happy. Millicent was very particular about the quality of her food.

\---------------

Kylo Ren loved his job.

It wasn’t an easy one, mind. It made his muscles sore and his bones ache, and the workout regimen he had to keep to maintain his body was simply disgusting. But he couldn’t complain when shaking his ass at someone resulted in two hundred pounds under his belt. In fact, the only thing he didn’t love about his job was his competition. Well, sometimes he loved that. But that was sort of the problem.

At first, Armitage Hux had been nothing but a whiny little thorn in Kylo’s side. Kylo had initially dismissed him as a try-hard twink with a stick up his ass. But the second he saw him up on stage, Kylo knew he was in trouble.

Hux moved with a fluidity not belied by his usual posture. It was incredible to see the change in him when he stepped onstage. Backstage, he moved with so rigidly one would think the man had never stretched a day in his life. He always looked like he’d just eaten a lemon, and he stood so straight he looked almost military. But the second Hux set foot on that stage, he became a different person. His body melted into the music. His face shifted from irritation to coyness, his hips tilted out just so, his arms moved as if through water. As much as Kylo hated to admit it, Hux became the very embodiment of sex appeal. And he did really, really hate to admit it.

That night, as Kylo stepped onto his own stage, he wondered if Hux knew. If Hux could tell he was watching his every step, if Hux could feel his eyes follow the motion of those swaying hips. When Hux met his eyes, Kylo winked. He could tell Hux had no idea how deeply he was blushing, visible over his freckles even through the pulsing lights.

After Kylo’s shift had finished, he gathered his things and popped back out into the club before leaving to try and coerce a free drink out of the bartender. On his way there, he passed the private alcoves used for lap dances, small spaces with plush black armchairs and rich red curtains for privacy. A flicker of movement in one of the alcoves flashed in his peripheral vision. Kylo stopped in his tracks. Only the real VIPs got to use these spaces, which meant whoever was in there was a bigshot. Either that, or it was Hux, who preferred to give lap dances in privacy, and was so high up in the pecking order that he had that luxury. 

Kylo turned slowly towards the curtain. Indeed, the sliver of light spilling through the crack was flickering, which meant somebody was moving around in there. He crept forwards, feeling like a naughty child reaching into the cookie jar, and peered through the crack.

He felt a blazing hot flash run up his spine.

It was hard to make out much, but Kylo was no idiot. He knew what was going on. A man in a suit sat in the armchair, legs spread, hand fisted in a head of ginger hair, which was bobbing rhythmically. The man was mumbling something. He sounded like he was enjoying himself.

Kylo didn’t know what to do. Tell the club’s owner? No, Snoke wouldn’t care. Hux was, excepting Kylo, his favorite, and earned him far too much money to be worth throwing out over something like this. It occurred to Kylo that Snoke probably already knew about this anyway. There wasn’t a thing that went on in the First Order that Snoke didn’t know about. Tell the police? Of course not. That would inexorably bring the club’s other less-than-legal practices to light, and get his ass booted out the door.

The only thing to do was walk by. Ignore it. Forget he saw anything.

“Phasma,” he said to the bartender once he reached the bar, leaning against the counter heavily, “I’m going to need something very strong.”

\---------------

Hux knew Ren saw it. Of course he did. The buffoon had hardly been quiet walking by in those atrocious combat boots of his. He was just lucky the man he’d been sucking off had been to preoccupied to notice.

The next night in the makeup room, Hux studiously ignored Ren as always. He was carefully lining his eyes when a voice piped up behind him.

“That’s an interesting color,” said the voice. It was Ren, obviously. Hux had been too focused on his eyeliner to notice him in the mirror behind him, a mistake which he presently cursed himself for.

Hux lowered the eyeliner brush defeatedly, which was coated in blue. “It goes with my outfit.” It wasn’t much of an outfit, admittedly, just a midnight blue thong, sheer black thigh highs attached by garters, a glittering blue blazer (which would be quickly removed once he was onstage), and matching blue heels.

Ren stepped up close to him. “Pink would look better with your hair.” Ren’s bare chest, wide and defined, was so close to Hux’s back that he could feel the heat radiating from it. In the mirror, Hux saw what they looked like, himself bent slightly over the makeup counter to see himself clearly, Ren behind him, crotch in line with his arse. Ren had those cursed leather pants on, though the suspenders were absent, and his hair was mussed deliberately, undoubtably the result of a good thirty minutes of work in a mirror. He looked inarguably good in this light, jawline strong, eyes sharp, pectorals defined. And Ren, the absolute _bastard_ , was smirking like that cat that got the fucking cream.

Fine, then. Two could play at this game.

Hux pressed his hips back into Ren’s and threw a sultry look over his shoulder. “Pink is for special occasions.”

Ren, curse him, was unfazed. He leaned forwards, put a hand on the counter beside Hux’s own. He was suddenly _so close._ They were an inch apart, barely, Ren’s hot breath brushing across Hux’s lips, the expanse of his leanly muscled chest pressed into Hux’s back. “What sort of special occasions?”

This was quite enough. “Not any you’ll ever see,” Hux sneered. 

He ducked out from under Ren, took his eyeliner pot, and screwed the top back on idly as he walked away. Out of spite, he let his hips sway on the way to the door, relishing the way Ren’s eyes followed them. He opened the door and the club’s music spilled through in a distant thrum. 

“Go play with the rest of Snoke’s little dogs,” Hux said, and closed the door behind him.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Written (with permission) based on this post: http://letmeputitinyourbutt.tumblr.com/post/167505283098/headcanons-of-the-strip-club-au-kyluxicle-and-i  
> [Don't read that post if you don't want potential spoilers for where this fic is going.]
> 
> Listen guys, I'm not even sure I'm gonna finish this, because I wrote it on a whim in the middle of the night, but if enough people want more I'll deliver. We'll see. Hope you enjoyed what I did write!


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